A Day at the Beach

Finally on the last day of June, we had some steamy summer weather. What else is there to do when it feels like 105 degrees outside – hit the beach!

Growing up in northern Minnesota, surrounded by lakes, I never fully accepted the notion of outdoor swimming pools. To me, they are giant vats of chemically treated water surrounded by feet-scorching concrete. The smell of chlorine and bleach takes me back to Jr. High gym class where we were forced to wear school-issued orange swimsuits that made everyone look like a floating pumpkin, regardless of their body type. Swimming in the summer means fresh, cool lakes with sandy beaches and no hint of chemicals that burn my nose. I’ll take sand in my pants over burning eyes from chlorine, thank you.

While my almost 3-year-old napped, I packed up about 40 pounds of beach gear. Towels, sunscreen, plastic beach toys, water bottles, life jackets, a chair, one pink and one blue “noodle”, and a few snacks. When he woke up, we (including my 6-year-old, who had been patiently waiting to go since she got up) packed ourselves and the gear into my tiny Jetta for the 10 minute drive to the beach.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with this beach idea. There was a double line and I was car #5 in the shortest line. Eventually, I was the last one there because on this day, the hottest day of the year, I chose to buy my season beach pass, which involved paperwork and a credit card.

We scored Rock Star parking! This meant I didn’t have to pull out the giant stroller from my tiny trunk and pack it with all the beach gear. Naturally, I regretted this decision upon the first whine from the 6-year-old that the pink noodle (the only thing she was carrying) was too heavy. We were mere feet from the beach.

We zigzagged through the towels, umbrellas, and flip-flopped feet and settled in our usual spot between the two life-guard stations. Although it was 3:30pm, I lathered up my alabaster-skinned, blonde, blue-eyed children with SPF 50. You can never be too careful! My 6-year-old decided she no longer wanted to wear any sort of life-saving equipment; she didn’t even want the noodle. Gasp.

Well, at least the almost 3-year-old would be safe in his Buzz Lightyear life jacket, even if he never enters the water. I dumped the plastic beach toys near the water for him to play with; maybe he’ll get his feet wet. I settled in my chair and look for my suddenly-brave 6-year-old among the dozens of bobbing heads. It was hot! Sweat rolled down my back, my front, my face, yet I remained in my chair. My Buzz Lightyear’s face was blotchy-red and his hair was wet (from sweat) so it was time to get him cool. I sat in the water next to him and miracle of miracles, he sat down too. We played in the 3 inches of water making sand castles.

Suddenly, there were random children absconding with my plastic beach toys! Clearly, this gang of beach toy bandits belonged to the chatty mothers sitting next to me. I cleared my throat and looked at them “I don’t mind if they play with the toys, just be sure they play with them here.” Awkward giggling. “Oh, we didn’t even notice, thanks.” Well, pay attention because your annoying cherubs were just about to enter a life of crime.

Up next, another thief, about 4-years-old, appeared out of nowhere and grabbed a blue bucket and ran to the other side of the beach! I went after the pint-size robber like a Keystone cop and caught up with him in the surf. “Excuse me little boy, but that is my bucket.” He put it in my hand without incident, except for the horror in his eyes. Big bad momma, coming for my bucket! You better be scared. And where are your parents?

I spent the next hour fending off would-be beach toy burglars, instead of watching my 6-year-old pretend to be a good swimmer. She found a friend from school who kept her occupied and I only had to yell at her once for going too far out in the water. “No, you may not swim out to that dock. That one is only for teenagers!” (Teenagers who actually know how to swim!)

More and more kids appeared for the toys. I can’t be the only one with this problem. I can’t be the only one that brought cheap plastic toys to this beach. I kept them in a pile near my Buzz Lightyear, who was clearly playing with them. But they hovered and eyed them like prey. “You may play with them, but they have to stay here.” I finally said to two different groups – some of them who were at least 11-years-old. The older they are, the more stealthy. They peered around; wondered if anyone was watching. I am. I’m staring right at you. You can’t miss me; I’m huge.

5pm safety check was the perfect time to pack up and leave. I gathered up the plastic beach toys; almost lost a cup to a kid who said it was his because he found it floating. Yeah, that’s because another one of your kind – the thieving kind, took it out in the water and left it there. It’s mine. Step.Away.From.My.Cheap.Plastic.Beach.Toys.

Fortunately, the friend of the 6-year-old left too, so there was no drama when I said it was time to go; except when she ran off to rinse her feet but left her flip flops back in the sand. Buzz Lightyear was bothered by his wet swim diaper, so we dragged our sweaty selves and the 40 pounds of beach gear into the rest room to change, which was sweltering because the hot-air hand dryers turned on/off for no apparent reason.

I started the car for the air conditioning (like you would do in the winter to heat it up) and I packed my beach cargo and kids in. I was soaking sweaty wet; wetter than I had been in the last hour sitting on a beach.


If and when I do this again, I will label my old, weathered plastic beach toys with a giant black Sharpie. “Do Not Touch. Or Steal. Unless you’re one of my children. Who knows manners and knows how to ask to play with things that are not theirs.”